


adam in the garden

by yuushi



Category: Kagerou Project
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuushi/pseuds/yuushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shintaro thinks to himself that if this stranger wouldn’t be the death of him, all his vices — not his, mind: the stranger’s — certainly would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	adam in the garden

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr. Unedited and unproofread -- my apologies! I hope this is enjoyable nonetheless. This was my attempt at KuroShin NSFW flashfic (it did get a bit too long to be flashfic though, oops).

The stranger calls himself Konoha. But when he says it, it seems a little bit not right, like he’s rolling back his shoulders, still trying to get comfortable in his skin. His hair is dark unlike his bright eyes, Ene is suddenly very quiet, and Shintaro tries instead not to make eye contact, inching slowly off to the side without any grace, because Konoha’s eyes are wide and fascinated and his smile is stretched a little too wide, like his jaw might unhinge.

The day was August 10th, and in the heavy heat Konoha complained of feeling lethargic, and Shintaro didn’t like how it sounded like he wasn’t complaining, but the streets were empty without business for him to suddenly be busy with. He jostled his phone several times, hoping Ene might get the hint, but no; instead there was just the stranger, smiling, not at all by the heat, and patient. He must have shoved his phone in his pocket when he walked Konoha to a bus stop awning, and told him, quite frankly, that he had other things to do, so sorry for the heat but good luck getting home.

"I think we might meet again," said Konoha, his smile a slight curl. He was lounging against the bench, arm thrown over it, like he were at home, somewhere. "I think it should be pleasant."

The way he says it it sounds like he doesn’t think fate might cross their paths, but rather that they will. Though Konoha remained seated, and Shintaro stood, back to the street with nothing to keep him, he felt a wall to his back.

"Yeah, well," Shintaro sputtered after a pause, "if that happens, sure. Whatever, anyway—"

But because there was no wall at his back, he made off rather neatly and ignored with great talent the feeling of gnawing at his back, like fangs, or a pair of sharp-slit eyes, or a sharp grin, all of which were unpleasant.

On August 11th Konoha shows up at his house, and informs him kindly that he had left behind his phone the other day, and that he’d followed the tracker on his phone to find his house, and that it was so terribly hot …

"What are you so afraid of?" Konoha had asked, he was certain, at some point; probably, he had asked that once. "You haven’t spoken a word." But then he added very nicely that he would wait patiently for Shintaro to return the conversation.

That was probably sometime on the 11th, or the 12th or 13th, maybe? Perhaps it had been the 14th. No, but he was more certain that on the 12th Konoha had then said, “I only thought to talk, if you would like,” even though that would make more sense for him to have said on the 11th, the second time they met, just as he said they would, outside some act of fate. When Konoha had been invited in, or rather, invited himself in, he had taken to Shintaro’s room and it had been rather embarrassing really; this time he took to sitting to Shintaro’s bed, and Shintaro took to his chair, as though reasserting his authority within his own room, however messy and disgusting and, God, when was the last time he’d cleaned it? Konoha smiled as if he knew the exact date, hour, and minute when he had, and knew that it was nowhere within the period of time anyone could call recent. Shintaro had shifted uncomfortably in his chair and sunk down a little lower.

Oh, but he was unpleasant and nowhere near good company, but he spoke in such wonderful tongues he was always welcome back. Actually, the words he spoke were never very nice at all, and yet, and yet; there was something lyrical that flowed with a nice sibilance, and he was, to Shintaro’s surprise, of great intelligence, engaging in him a great many topics of conversation, and Konoha never stepped a toe further than he was comfortable with, and so they would often maintain at least five feet of distance across the room as they spoke.

The room remained quiet for his computer was more often off, and his phone was quiet, and lately there had been no one to interrupt their digressions; perhaps they had been too busy with their work, Momo with her class and job, and his mother with her own job, and of course they had no father, and he had no friends to call. And frankly this was better than speaking to either of them, or going to school where everyone he’d known was incredibly stupid, far below someone with an IQ like his, and—

"Shintaro? Are you listening?" Konoha prods him patiently, teething along his jawline. His tongue would poke through his teeth and draw itself along the bone that accented the skin as he did. When he reaches his earlobe, he bites down with only slight restraint.

Shintaro gasps, hard and heavy and suddenly, the heat in his cheeks in contrast with how cool his ear felt suddenly in Konoha’s mouth, a sure sign it was bleeding no small amount. His fingers interlocked till now round Konoha’s neck unlatch and drag themselves down Konoha’s back, who barely feels it: unlike Shintaro, who has only a shirt, he’s almost entirely dressed, save his pants which had been undone. Still, this seems to delight him, and Konoha licks the wound with a grin Shintaro doesn’t need to see to feel. “Oh? But you like this, don’t you? If I had to use more vulgar terms—”

"Shut up—"

"It turns you on, hmmm?" His free hand runs its fingers along Shintaro’s thigh (he had a hand on both, to keep his legs splayed open) and his touch is light and unsatisfying, nearing his crotch but never reaching, and he continues speaking before Shintaro can ask. "We were speaking of Adam and Eve, weren’t we? Please, continue."

It was only that they most _often_ stood at least five feet away from each other, but words weren’t the only form of discourse; it’d probably been Konoha who said that. And now, five days later (had it only been five days?) his body ached and bruised, but he hadn’t yet told Konoha to leave.

"Asshole," Shintaro scoffs with a strained voice, turning his head into the sheets and digging his cheek in. He felt light-heated and weak, and a little bit gross with how slick he was with blood and sweat and certain other bodily fluids, and probably, if he were forced to be honest, tears, but still he felt they were getting somewhere with— what, he didn’t quite know. But with shaky breaths he adds: "It’s a straightforward — not parable, just history. Telling the readers why it’s all their fault …"

He sucks in a breath as Konoha loses interest in his thighs, his hand sliding along the curve of his waist as his body arches upward, toward Konoha’s body, so the touch wouldn’t be impeded by the bed. “But really, rather than Eve, it must be God’s fault? He always knew, and yet he let the whole original sin happen.”

"He ‘let it,’ did he now?"

"He did," Shintaro says with as much defiance as he can muster, though his red cheeks and loud breathing probably took from the effect. "God knows all, according to the same book. He— let it happen."

"And what of Adam?"

"What—" is as much as he manages before Konoha’s fingers dig so deeply into his hair that he can feel the nails in his skull and jerks his head to the side Konoha’s other hand levering his shoulder down and Shintaro feels distinctly, not for the first time, that he might die; if he pulled his head in shoulder any further apart, he’d split open between neck and shoulder.

(And the thought makes— him harder, that he can’t help but muffle his whine against the sheets, but teeth grit because he doesn’t want to ask for _that_ , not of all things, he might have learnt to beg to get fucked harder and touched more and touched rougher but he wouldn’t beg for his death, not out loud; and he insists, for the sake of his good name, that this hadn’t always been a fetish of his, and it wasn’t his fault; it wasn’t his fault at all.)

But Konoha doesn’t kill him and instead takes to bruising his neck with kisses and teeth, then cleaning up after himself, very politely, with his tongue, fat and wet against his skin like it’s tasting something tasty. On occasion his teeth would break skin and Shintaro would shiver, barely grasping his train of thought about Gods and Adams in his mind, because he knows that if he forgets Konoha _won’t_ touch him; he wouldn’t give Shintaro what he wanted unless he got what he wanted first, and it seemed plain to Shintaro Konoha liked seeing him squirm, trying to manage conversation and pleasure at once.

So Shintaro wants to tell him to get back to how they were doing it _earlier_ , during what was probably morning, when Konoha had actually deigned to push inside him, but what he says is this: “What _about_ Adam?” His voice is higher than he would’ve liked.

Konoha keeps at his work, humming thoughtfully with his eyes closed, and Shintaro closes his own eyes and endures the aching, his own hand fisted into Konoha’s hair in impatience. His cheeks stung with cold. “Oh, nothing at all,” Konoha answers eventually, head tilting against Shintaro’s fisted hand and nuzzling his arm in affectionate approval. “I would never mean anything by it. But couldn’t he have stopped her?”

"Adam didn’t know."

"Does not knowing not make you complicit in crime? I’m certain we spoke of an arrest the other day … Do you not remember?"

Shintaro exhales through clenched teeth, reluctant, his eyes only focusing vaguely. But finally he recites: “Man arrested … for being in possession of drugs, contained in small anonymous boxes. Claims he was introduced by a friend to the job, but didn’t know what he was pedaling.”

“ _Very_ good.” Konoha grins widely with shining eyes, his hand slipping down along Shintaro’s chest, fingers digging into each open wound it found as it went; but slowly. Shintaro made impatient, gasping sounds at each opened wound, it still not enough; and he whines faintly, in resignation, when Konoha finally touches him, all fingers running along his full length, embarrassingly hard.

The touch was rough and unpleasant: blood and cum, as they had learnt by now, made for a terrible lubricant, and Shintaro suspects that’s why it doesn’t deter Konoha. Still, he has to bite back the groan pressing against his teeth, because he’d waited _so long_ and Konoha always knew how to— “And?”

"A … And?" Shintaro mutters, mind distant.

"I’m certain you could finish my thought better than I ever could, so please," Konoha says invitingly, curling his fingers, and working into an even pace. "Tell me of Adam’s sin, that came long before Eve’s."

"Adam’s …" He trails off, opting instead for a swear or two, because _fuck_ Konoha; it was very like him to do this, in exchange for being so gentle. His knees press against Konoha’s sides, thighs quivering. “Fuck, God, it’s your opinion, how should I know? … Probably something like … He could’ve stopped her … He was — negligent, wasn’t he?”

"Mmmm?" Konoha hums, thumbing the head of his cock patiently.

"Nn— He could’ve … he should’ve … been more aware, about her, and his position — about how, it was just them, alone in the garden …" He exhales harshly as Konoha increases his pace, the friction both suffocating and hot. "If he didn’t stop her, he probably — wasn’t thinking of — her — not at all, before then; he was — selfish — egocentric … Ah—"

He curls his fingers harshly into Konoha’s hair and pulls himself closer, chin digging into Konoha’s shoulder— which was stupid of him, because he had nothing to muffle his voice when he finally came into Konoha’s hand. Konoha chides him for coming so easily, when he’d barely touched him at all, but wraps his arms around Shintaro’s bare body, Shintaro clinging to the shirt over Konoha’s shoulder blades weakly.

When he opens his eyes again he’s sitting on Konoha’s lap with his thighs split around him, and still in that uneven embrace. Konoha sat with his back to the wall, and the coolness of the wall plaster against Shintaro’s forehead seems almost to grant him some clarity of mind. He wonders, for a moment, why exactly was he doing this? And how long had it been? But Konoha rocks his body gently, and Shintaro knows that he’s expecting him to continue. Where had he left off?

"… He basically didn’t care for her at all, I guess … And just thought about himself. So that Eve’s sin happened … must have been Adam’s fault … Right?"

"If Shintaro says so, it must have been," Konoha says agreeably. "After all, it’s not as though God made them without free will … He simply created a paradise for them."

"… Yeah, He did, huh. And Adam was meant to look after her …"

"Ah!" Konoha’s eyes gleam. "Speaking to you is always a pleasure; you always understand so much. Come on."

Konoha says this suddenly, pulling Shintaro back just enough that they can see eye to eye; Shintaro doesn’t resist, tired by now, and somewhat in a daze. Still, he keeps his eyes lower than Konoha’s gaze, and so it isn’t any surprise when Konoha takes Shintaro’s cheek in his hand, covered still in Shintaro’s cum from earlier, and slides his thumb into Shintaro’s mouth. Obligingly, Shintaro sucks, eyes slipping closed, and his tongue flattens against each finger Konoha adds.

Gently, Konoha strokes Shintaro’s other cheek with his clean hand, as though rewarding a nice show. His voice, as always, is smooth and peaceful, dripping unpleasant but all the same enticing and terrible, and understanding, in the faux way only someone who had put forced themselves so deep inside his chest cavity, where his heart ought to be beating, could sound. It always felt so nice. “It feels much better, doesn’t it? To accept the blame yourself, instead of blaming something abstract and doubtful like ‘God.’ He’d never intended any of this, certainly; it’s always been human folly… Isn’t that right, Shintaro?”

"… Mm."


End file.
